


Nightmares

by LokisGirl



Category: Metallica
Genre: Gen, Jason Newsted is a Good Bro, Literal Sleeping Together, Male Friendship, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29155116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokisGirl/pseuds/LokisGirl
Summary: Look! I wrote a gen! I didn't know I could do that!No one wants to share a hotel room with James because they can't get any sleep. Jason finds a solution to the problem.With platonic friendship! What!
Relationships: James Hetfield/Jason Newsted
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Nightmares

“Wake up, sleeping beauty. We’re at the hotel,” James shakes me out of my bunk on the bus. I’m sharing a room with him tonight. He’s a great guy- funny, smart, and one of the goofiest people I’ve ever met. When he’s awake.

Asleep, James is a whole different animal. His nightmares take over the whole room. I didn’t even know that someone could be a loud sleeper until I had to sleep in the bed next to James’. Sometimes he moans like he’s being tortured. Occasionally he shouts. But the most disturbing thing that is guaranteed to happen every night is the crying. James sobs in his sleep. He’s loud and it’s almost impossible to wake James between him being a heavy sleeper naturally and the case of beer before bed.

Which means I don’t get any rest. So I sleep on the bus as much as possible when I know it’s my turn to room with him. Sometimes I’ll catch Kirk doing the same thing, and I’ve seen Lars popping sleeping pills on his night. We don’t ever talk about it with each other or with James. 

My best guess is that his nightmares are about Cliff. Everything in this band is about Cliff, which is understandable. I’ve been with them for six months now and started to comprehend the fact that without their deceased leader Metallica is an army without a general. They all looked to Cliff to make the decisions, trusted his judgment and followed his plans.

Without Cliff, they have no idea what to do. James and Kirk drink constantly and Lars calls his dad every time he gets near a phone. I don’t do anything. I’m only 23. What do I know about dealing with grief? I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a friend, a brother like that, his life taken right in front of you. So I do my best to be kind when I can and help them the only way I know how. I go on stage every night and play Cliff’s riffs like they’re sacred.

Sipping a beer, I watch some TV while James takes first shower. There’s nothing on but news- Glasnost and Perestroika, revolution in the Philippines, yadda yadda. James comes out of the bathroom in sweatpants, rubbing water out of his hair with a thin hotel towel. I pop the tab on a cold one and put it on the table nearest his bed.

“Thanks,” he says with a wan smile.

My heart sinks. If James can’t even be cheered up with beer now, he’ll be hell when he’s unconscious. I nod and pass by him to take my own shower.

A very long shower. James is asleep by the time I get out, tossing and turning already. He mewls like a hurt child, one hand sticking out of his blankets into the empty space between the beds. The sound is so small and so desperate that I can’t not do anything. His pain tugs at my heart. I reach out to brush his fingertips with mine.

“James,” I whisper. “James, it’s okay. You’re safe. James, I’ve got you, buddy.” Waking him won’t help. He’ll just curse at me and fall right back asleep where his terrors will start again. I hope his subconscious is picking up my words.

James grabs my hand, still slumbering. He threads his fingers through mine. He snuffles a little and then all his noises cease. He’s breathing normally. His face relaxes and he’s quiet. I smile at him in the dark. He’ll get some real rest now.

He stays like that, holding my hand and not moving for about a half hour. Since I’ve already gotten my sleep on the bus, I’m just laying there with my arm extended for him, amusing myself with random thoughts.

Then he rolls away without letting go. He drags me off my bed. I have no choice but to step off the bed before I’m pulled to the floor. Gently, I disengage my hand before he gets my whole arm under his body and I’m stuck. I’m pretty certain James doesn’t want to know he’s been holding my hand all night. That would be something close to an admission of weakness and the Hetfield brand doesn’t have room for that.

James doesn’t object or wake up. He sleeps peacefully for the rest of the night. I consider that a minor miracle. The next day he’s less gruff and jokes around more than usual. I’m relieved. Maybe the dark clouds are finally moving off.

The show goes off without a hitch. We celebrate our success backstage at the venue with a lot of fans. The security somehow decided that anyone with a Metallica shirt was approved to be back here and everyone who was waiting by the door for an autograph joins the party. We should do it like this all the time.

Or maybe we shouldn’t. Lars pulls me aside. “Hey, listen, Jase. I’ve got this girl, and uh, maybe you could not come back to the room for a while? Say a couple of hours?”

I consider this. On one hand, we’re in Florida, so I could sleep on the bus without any hassle except for having to go into the hotel in the morning for a real shower. On the other hand, a hotel bed beats a bus bunk any day of the week. But Lars is my boy, and that girl is pretty hot. “Tell you what, you find me a joint and I’ll let you have the room all to yourself,” I propose.

It takes Lars about ten minutes to find my price, and a bunch of people to share it with. They’re all staying at the same hotel as the band so I ride over with them. One of them is a fellow bassist who wants to pick my brain about the Flotsam and Jetsam record; the weed comes with a free ego stroke, which is always nice.

As all good things do, it eventually comes to an end. I don’t feel like sleeping just yet, so I wander the halls. Hotels have this surreal quality that I enjoy when I’m high. The halls seems endless and I like to imagine the mysteries hiding behind each door. Is this one secreting a CIA operative on a mission to save the country? Are these people having an affair? Does this room belong to a novelist feverishly working on completing the first draft of the next New York Times bestseller far from the demands of home?

I took the elevator to the top floor and am winding my way down each floor via the stairs at either end. It’s the scenic route. The halls are empty in the silence of night. For seven floors I see only one person, a hotel employee delivering a bottle of wine. We nod at each other and I keep floating through the repeating expanse of corridors and stair wells until I come to the third floor. Metallica’s floor. Lars has room 312. Next door belongs to James and Kirk.

It’s not silent. I can hear James through the door, through the thin plaster wall. He’s crying again. My stomach knots. I hate that sound so much.

Knocking on the door as quietly as I can, I manage to rouse Kirk. His dark hair is pulled back in a pony tail emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes. He’s exhausted. Stepping out into the hallway, he shakes his head.

We both know this is what passes for normal in our world. “Has he been like that all night?”

Kirk shrugs. “It’s like a switch inside him just flips as soon as he hits the pillow. We were laughing right before he passed out, and now... what am I supposed to do?”

“Let me try something. Promise not to laugh.” I tip toe into the darkened room, Kirk right behind me. Sitting myself on the edge of James’ bed, I take his hand. He wraps himself around my arm and immediately stops crying.

Kirk’s eyes go wide in the thin moonlight from the window. “He’ll stay like that now?” he whispers.

I nod. It worked before.

Kirk flops out on his bed and into sleep of his own. I can’t go anywhere. James has me trapped. I get as comfortable as I can and do the only thing there is to do. I watch him sleep. He’s alabaster and gold in the dimness. I hope my presence is somehow healing his heart.

The next hotel. The conversation at the front desk goes something like this:  
“Kirk, do you have the other key for our room?”

“Um, no. Lars decided to stay with me tonight. You, uh, have better luck with James than we do.”

“Luck? That’s not luck. Are you going to leave me with him from now on?”

“Well, yeah. That’s the general idea.”

“You can’t do that. James’ll want to know why we’re suddenly together every night.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m going to tell him you have a crush on him!”

I may have to kill Kirk. But I get it. If I’m the only one who can get James to settle, then it’s my job as his friend to make it happen. But no one else even tried.

“Look, it’s not that hard. You just take his hand when he starts, and he snaps right out of it,” I explain. “You two at least need to experiment before you go making it out to be some sort of Newsted super power.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll make Lars do it tonight.”

The upshot of that was that Lars came to breakfast the next day angry and sporting a black eye. Grabbing me by the breakfast buffet he glowered. “I followed your advice about Hetfield, and he punched me!”

“How was I supposed to know? I’ve done it twice.”

“Yeah, but what exactly did you do? I tried petting his hair like my mom used do to me. He didn’t wake up, he just hauled off and blasted me in the face!” Lars points a disgusted finger at the purple bruise flowering on his cheek.

“What do I do? Not much. I put my hand out and touch his hand then move it away a little. Then he grabs on to me and everything’s fine. Maybe you shouldn’t touch his head. I never did that and he hasn’t hit me,” I try to explain.

“Well, I guess Kirk’ll find out tomorrow. It’s your turn again tonight.”

James moves from clinging to my arm to throwing his leg over mine as I sit beside him. He curls up to my thigh and I see the corners of his mouth turned up. It’s a bit harder to get free before he wakes this time. I have three cups of coffee at breakfast which does nothing to prevent me from passing out the instant I get on the bus. 

The venue manager at the arena comes by to take our dinner orders. I opt for a simple burger and fries. James looks at me with concern. “Far from me to stand between a man and his meat, but you might want to get a veggie with that. You’re sleeping way too much during the day for a dude who’s not sick. You sure you’re not coming down with something?”

I bite my tongue while Lars tries not to laugh. “You’re probably right,” I agree. “Can I get a garden salad instead of the fries, please?”

If looks could kill, Lars would be dead. He’s standing out of James’ line of sight turning purple he’s swallowing so much amusement. First he ruins my sleep schedule by sticking me with frontman babysitting and now they’re screwing with my food? Grr! Tonight, I get to sleep and Kirk can have the crybaby all to himself.

Three in the morning. Kirk’s at our door. James pushed him off the bed so hard he hit his head on the table. I drag myself across the hall where James wraps himself around my waist like a snake. His head in my lap, he’s mumbling his dreams to my leg. I think I hear him calling for Cliff.

And that’s all there is to it. Lars and Kirk invent some excuse about why they’re going to room together from now on, and I’m on permanent James duty. It doesn’t take long before I’m used to it. Wait for James to fall asleep, crawl in beside him and drowse until about an hour before we’re supposed to get up. I sneak back into my own bed and he’s none the wiser.

I really hope he never has to pee in the night. Explaining this whole business would be weird at best. It’s been a significant amount of time now. James has unknowingly been sleeping with me for three months. This is the new normal. James has stopped crying at night. I try to stay in my own bed and he starts again. I give up. It is what it is, and this is a very small price to pay for Hetfield’s health. He needs rest and this lets him have it.

What’ll happen to James when the tour ends? We have to go home eventually. I suppose he’ll cry and scream to himself then, which is- not fine. It’s fine for me, but not for James. Someone is going to have to say something some time. I don’t want that someone to be me. I decide to discuss it with Kirk.

“He’ll be fine on his own.” Kirk drains a shot glass, licks at a drop of whisky stuck to his lip. He fiddles with the empty glass. “He’ll have to be. He’s only awful when he’s asleep and he can’t tell. What’s the point in pissing him off? What are you going to do? Tell him he needs a therapist? He won’t listen. Leave him be. He’ll ask for help if he wants it.”

“I guess you’re right. What’s the alternative?”

“You could try to convince him to move in with you.”

As it happens, management books another leg of the tour and I don’t have to worry about James’ and my sleeping arrangements for another six months. A few times James takes a liking to a groupie and brings her back to the room. Those episodes ended predictably- James crying and the girl quickly gathering her belongings and bolting from the room. One of them tried hugging him around his back to comfort him. He woke up screaming for Cliff to help him. The groupie looked at me as if I’d somehow caused his night terror and I should fix him.

So I did my best. The next time James brought a girl to our room, I made my wallet disappear as a pretext for banning strangers from staying the night. If James wanted to get laid, fine, but his partner needed to go before he went to sleep. He agreed to the arrangement. Those nights were awkward for me. James would kick the girl out and go to sleep naked. Then it wouldn’t be long before he’d freak out and wind up pulling me to him, his nude form enveloping me, long arms and legs twined around me. I did not sleep those nights.

He’d get comfortable and snuggle up to me, his face in my neck. He’d sigh and whimper and sometimes he’d talk a little. C’mere Cliff. Cliff. Cliff.

Accepting the fact that James was in love with his friend was easy. It made sense in retrospect; James worshipped Cliff publicly. There was no reason for it not to carry over into private adoration.

I’d long assimilated the hugging and the Cliffing when James’ behaviour shifted again. He was still a sleepy octopus but now with added kissing. Little light feathery kisses to my neck while he was stuck all over my body. James really is cute as all get out but he’s a friend and there are lines. I didn’t think he wanted to cross that one and- friend. That’s just not done.

When the proverbial shit hit the fan we were in Phoenix. I lived here when Flotsam and Jetsam was my band and all my old friends turned up for the show and the after party. It was five in the morning by the time I stumbled back to the hotel. Same old, same old. It was hot as hell but I grudgingly put the sweat pants I’d been sleeping in on to the depressing sound of James’ subconscious tormenting him again. I didn’t even bother with touching my own bed, I just laid down beside James and offered him a few soft words before he wrapped himself around me like I was a human teddy bear. I was a little bit drunk and drifting off myself, which is why I didn’t hear the scratching sound of people picking the lock on the door.

My friends weren’t done partying, and they’d decided I wasn’t done either. Kelly burst in, his big voice booming. “Who wants some more shots? Wake up, I know you do!” he shouted as Lars, Kirk and an assortment of other dudes followed him in.

“WHOA!” Kelly shouted. Miraculously loud enough to wake James.

James, who was still snuggled up to me. Except that snuggled is not the word that usually describes someone who’s suddenly awake and confused. Confused not being one of his preferred states, James immediately transmuted the feeling to anger. “What the hell are all of you doing here?” he roared.

“Party’s not over, man. But it kinda looks like you two were having a party of your own,” Kelly laughed. “Get up, get up, the booze isn’t gone yet!”

It seemed safer to go along rather than causing more of a scene, so I grabbed the bottle of rum Kelly was brandishing and took a swig. I hauled myself out of bed, dragging the sheet with me. It moved enough to show all our guests that James had opted for the comfort of sleeping naked. Kirk tossed him a pair of jeans like it was nothing.

None of us ended up going back to bed that night and conversation was predictably stunted by horrible hangovers the next day.

Day three came with questions.

Trying to avoid someone when it’s your job to be within ten feet of them for hours at a time is challenging. Trying to avoid someone on a bus is more difficult still. Trying to avoid someone when you are the only two people in a 300 square foot hotel room is impossible. James cornered me after a long, boring day of interviews. The kind of day that never fails to leave him bristling with annoyance and spoiling for a fight.

“What are you trying to pull, Newsted?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I hedge.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. What were you doing in Phoenix?”

“You mean partying with my friends?” I’m still trying to avoid the whole conversation and I’m prepared to die in the process.

“No, I don’t mean partying with your friends,” James repeats sarcastically. “I mean, what the hell were you doing to me? Why were you in my bed?”

Now what? Do I let him believe I was-- I don’t know, hitting on him? No. I’m not the bad guy here and I’m not going to pretend so James can preserve his macho bullshit self concept.

I choose my words carefully. “Do you remember how when I first joined the band you used to complain about waking up dehydrated all the time?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Do you have any idea what you do in your sleep?”

“What are you talking about? I’m sleeping! I don’t do anything!”

“Oh, but you do. You cry. All night. Every night. Sobbing.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do. Ask Kirk or Lars why they won’t share a room with you. It’s true.”

“Then why do you?”

“Same reason I was in your bed. If I let you hold me, you don’t cry. For some reason, it only works for me,” I hold out my hands at shoulder height, palms up: the universal expression for I Don’t Get It Either.

“Bullshit.”

“Bull true. Go ahead, knock on the boys’ door and ask them. It’s right next door. I’ll wait.”

Wearing a face like a storm cloud, James goes to bang on the other door. He slams it when they let him in.

Five minutes later he’s back.

“Okay. Fine. But why you?”

“I don’t know James. You tell me.”

He heaves an annoyed breath. A vague look of recognition rises on his features. “That cologne you’re wearing. Have you always had it?”

“I dunno. I guess. I think my aunt gave it to me for Christmas about three years ago.” What does my after shave have to do with anything?

“Cliff wore the same one.”

“Should I stop?” I’m not attached to it. I wear it because it was free. My aunt won’t even know if I throw it away.

James tosses himself onto his bed, arms over his head. “No. I think it’s better if you keep it.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t know how to without prying.

“I hate the road. I hate being out here without my family, without my friends. Cliff hated it too. His people are tight back home and he said being out here made him feel like a loose end waiting to be cut off.”

He stops again. Is he done sharing or trying to think of a way to express himself?

I sit on the edge of my bed, legs in the space between us, keeping my mouth shut.

“You have older brothers, right?”

He knows I do.

“You know how one of them would take care of you when you thought you were alone? That’s what Cliff was like... he looked after me, and I looked out for him.”

He shifted so that he was talking to the far wall, facing away from me.

“The first European tour, way back when. Both of us were crazy homesick and one night we got more hammered than usual.” His voice is tiny, barely audible. “I got worked up over something- I think I missed my sister’s birthday- and I couldn’t get over it. I must have cried for an hour. Things like that hit harder out here.”

“Yeah,” I said. He’s telling the truth about that.

“Anyways, I was a mess, crying in my beer. Cliff wrapped me up in all the blankets and...” James pauses. He might not have it in him to finish the story.

He feels very far away. “And he hugged me until we passed out. We ended up doing that on a regular basis. After awhile we stopped pretending and just went to bed together when we shared a room.”

He pauses again.

“It wasn’t like that. Cliff never kissed me. Not once.”

This, I can’t pass up.

“Did you want him to?”

James rolls again, looks at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Maybe. It didn’t matter. That wasn’t the point.”

I don’t need to dig into him any further. This is what is. “Did you want to stop sleeping with me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Good question.

“I didn’t want you to think I was making fun of you. And I couldn’t stop. You must dream of some nasty shit. I couldn’t stand to listen to your pain, James. I couldn’t.”

He reaches out a hand to mine. I let him pet my palm before he grabs my wrist and tugs gently. “Get over here.” James pulls me down beside him and wraps his arms around me.


End file.
